ForceFusion

Fellow writers, I believe, are not strangers, though we've never met. We put our living soul into art, so no matter how fictional a story I read or write, there is a human connection. At least I think so.

Wow, thanks a lot guys. I'll be honest, this was just a metaphor for something I was/am going through, but I think I will try to develop it more.

This is a little mini-series of my journey as a writer. Writing is difficult and this is a series confronting that. It's mostly non-fiction. In fact, it's a little bit of a journal. I really don't know what it is, but the three pieces are connected in one way: they all come out of this terrible weekend I'm just getting through. There may be a follow up series. Untitled 6 "The Rip Tide" It's a rip tide. You never expect it. You're doing everything you can to deal with your emotions, to keep yourself healthy and sane, and then suddenly, no matter how strong you are, it pulls you under. You weep and cry and hyperventilate and you have absolutely no escape but drowning. You have to drown, to die, to become whole again. You have to absolutely lose your mind for a few moments. If you can pick yourself up off the floor, confront your issues, and continue to be a human being, then maybe you'll be all right. I was hurting her in my head. That blow was not for my pillow, it was for her. It was my vengeance. For the first time, I consciously allowed myself to wish pain upon her. Not for any sort of helpful reason; not so she could feel my pain, not so she could grow. No, I wished nothing good on her in that moment. I wished her pain simply because I was in pain. Because she caused me pain. Because I did nothing to deserve the pain and if there is fairness in the world, her soul will be torn to shreds. But there isn't fairness in the world. There is a God. A good God. Who forgives. And whom I must imitate. I am absolutely paralyzed. I cannot type the next sentence. I cannot. I cannot speak it. I can barely think it. I'm afraid if I don't do it now, I'll never be able to do it. But how can I forgive her twice in two weeks for tearing me to shreds? Kassy, I forgive you.

This is a little mini-series of my journey as a writer. Writing is difficult and this is a series confronting that. It's mostly non-fiction. In fact, it's a little bit of a journal. I really don't know what it is, but the three pieces are connected in one way: they all come out of this terrible weekend I'm just getting through. There may be a follow up series. Untitled 5 "The Rebel" The night comes. Hands gripped on cold steel, jaw carefully clenched shut, he watches as the world burns around him. "What have I done?" Daylight A rebels stabs a nation through the heart with a microphone. With a microphone necessary wounds are borne, and more heal. A nation's shameful history is brought to light, not for shame but for reconciliation. For honesty. We must see our past for our future. Some cannot ignore the shame. Some are so badly hurt by it that they lash out against it, denying the past and wishing it away. Wishful thinking never helped a soul. "I speak to you today," he stabs, "not to form an army. I have no desire to place blame, nor cast stones. But we must look at ourselves, look at our past and present, and see who we truly are. We must root out the injustices of yesterday that still bind us today. We must look to tomorrow and never forget the mistakes of our past, not for the sake of blame but for the sake of growth. There are those who want no change, who fear shame, and slink away from growth. We can change their minds! And if we cannot, we can change the minds of everyone else! We can take back our country!" The souls of the defeated cry out at the hope of victory. Throngs pack together, giving up all comfort, in the name of hope, in the name of tomorrow. "We shall not raise an army. No, my friends, we have learned from the mistakes of our forefathers. Never again shall we shed the blood of our brothers and sisters. Never again shall we flush the lives of our sons and daughters down. Never again shall we spiral into the death of a thousand wars!" Unseen but not too far away, another man grips a cold handrail. He listens and watches with his own ears and eyes, though closer and more intimate views are available to him. "Their numbers grow," says a voice o'er his shoulder. "Yes," he acknowledges, barely a whisper. "He will have a critical mass soon." "Yes." "If he doesn't already." A breath out. "Yes." Yes, indeed, the rebel and his followers would tear him down. Yes, they would drive him to the fields. Yes, he represented all that they spoke against. Yes, they were a tangible threat. Dropping his head for a moment, he prepares himself. He turns, lets go of the railing, and looks a commander in the face. "Are we ready?" "Yes, sir." He nods. "Bring him to me. And show them that we shall not be overcome." The rail is cold against the heat of his angry palms. Evening There are gunshots in the distance. He can smell fire. "Sir, the prisoner has arrived." He nods and lets go of the railing, turning to face the defeated. There is anger in his eye. He stands straight, not proud, but straight. "Hello." The prisoner makes no response; the angry eye does not waver. "Did you really think you would succeed?" Flames. In the distance, a sea of flames begins to crawl. "Your idealism was foolish. I'm sure you knew that from the start. And look what you've done. You've infected thousands with it. You've exposed them to their inevitable fate." There is no movement. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Stillness, the only movement is the rage in the eye. "Speak, fool. You're a brilliant speaker. Don't let your legacy go down with silence." Still silence. "Say something!" Not even a twitch. "Say something! Speak! Claim victory with your words!" Nothing. "SPEAK!" he says, and with a backhand breaks the awful gaze. He wails and he slams his fists into his enemy's clenched jaw. Silence again. "Pathetic." He turns to see his city as dusk falls. "Put him in his cell." The rail remains cold. "I would have done anything for you." "Take him away!" The night comes.

This is a little mini-series of my journey as a writer. Writing is difficult and this is a series confronting that. It's mostly non-fiction. In fact, it's a little bit of a journal. I really don't know what it is, but the three pieces are connected in one way: they all come out of this terrible weekend I'm just getting through. There may be a follow up series. Untitled 7 "The Writing Space" I have a tendency to leave unsaved documents open. I used to have a space for creative things I was working on, stories or games I was trying to develop. (For those of you who don't know, Macs allow you do have different "spaces" for different things, basically multiple desktops.) Sometimes I go into such a deep writer's block that I just give up on the separate space. If I have any projects worth working on, I put them on my main space, hiding behind Safari and Skype. There's always another TextEdit document open for my online gaming, sometimes multiple. I thought I'd been in this deep writing block, and the reality that is that I guess I sort of am; I've produced nothing of full substance. For so long I was absolutely afraid of writing, afraid of failing at it, afraid of the work it takes and afraid of hating my own words so much that I can't even begin to start that work. I didn't think I was getting anywhere until tonight. Tonight I decided the best thing for me to do was to open up my writing space once again. No matter how pathetic it might look with one tiny TextEdit dwarfed by the darkness of my background, I just have to have the space open, have to be open to an attempt at writing. Well, turns out it wasn't just one tiny unsaved TextEdit I had hiding behind the internet, it was six, not including this one. And all but one of them was a legitimate creative endeavor. Nothing major, nothing fancy, but they were words and ideas on an electronic page. That's something, right? Maybe I don't get three pages worth every day, but I'm facing my fears now. I'm facing my fears. It seems inappropriate to add another paragraph after the satisfying end that could be represented above, but I have one more thing to say. Why are all those documents unsaved, a savvy reader might ask. Aren't you afraid of losing them if something goes wrong with your computer? Well, the answer is sad. It always took me forever to save my writings because saving them makes them real, it makes them inescapable. They're burnt onto my hard drive if I save them and I can never deny that I wrote them. Plus, I hate not having good titles to save them under. Pathetic, I know. The reason I extend this piece is because I'm about to extend another one. Not only am I going to title and save all these works, I'm going to write something that needs to be written. So, if you're interested, turn your attention to the last line in "Unittled 6" soon to be known as "The Rip Tide."

Aerec and Darex were spiraling through hyperspace, away from the chaos at Gala. Aerec would not have been able to tell that if it hadn't been for the feeling of the battle getting more distant in space. But not in his heart. The weight of it all scared him, more than just the scar on his cheek or the absence of his eyes and split in his spine. It threatened to crush his spirit. Sometimes he wanted to let it. He was unable to scream, to cry out, to shed tears. He lay still, letting a machine breath in and out for him. He could only express himself through the Force, and he was too afraid of what his outlash might look like. So he stayed in his involuntary stillness and let it build, trying desperately to hang onto that hope. Perhaps the hands of a healer were not too far away.

Aerec's first instinct was to attack. He jumped in at Darex with an over the head blow with a lot of power behind it. Darex, of course, easily blocked it away. But Aerec was prepared for whatever riposte might come. He stepped back to re-set for a very quick moment, before jumping into another attacking combination. They kept this sparring up for a few minutes -- Aerec the constant aggressor -- before he realized what was happening. It was strange to actually be dueling Darex. So many times under Faust's tutelage, the Hunter had used visions and illusions of the Jedi Master to manipulate. Now Aerec was fighting the real thing. Just sparring, practicing of course...but still. I'm all attack! It struck him hard. Most of his combat training had come under the Sith Master. Faust had taught Aerec to be aggressive, to use his anger, to strike and cut at the opponent. Though his emotions weren't rising, the beat of his heart was quickening. He could feel his pulse raging, like it had when Faust had first taught him. When first had first taught him.... When Riftor had been born. Come on, Aerec, came the voice. How weak do you feel, impersonating these attacks without putting any energy behind them! Lash out! Aerec just pushed it away. He didn't want to deal with that right now. He was practicing his lightsaber technique. That was what mattered. Darex could teach him new things, correct his form. He didn't need Riftor getting into his head. His muscles still remembered the attacks and defenses that Faust had taught him. It was true, though, what Riftor said. He didn't feel nearly as powerful without rage behind him. But his form was all right. After twenty minutes had gone by, rather quickly, beads of sweat rolled off his forehead. It was cleansing. Then came a blast of anguish in the Force. Darex abruptly left and came back with a slack Darla in his arms. "I have no idea what happened." "What can we do to help her?" Aerec asked. But it was obvious there was nothing. Darex wasn't a healer and Aerec wasn't even really a Jedi. He wished he could do something. Darex didn't seem too worried, though. He set up the remote and instructed Aerec on how to defend against it. The first shot surprised him and caught him in the shoulder, sending a flash of shock and pain through his body. "Ouch!" For a moment, he wanted to get angry. But instead he focused and predicted the next shot, blocking it down to the floor. Blocking the shots, he found, was pretty easy. He did it for a good twenty minutes before being fully confident that he wouldn't be hit, but his instincts were tuned by then. Re-directing it, however, was another story altogether. He had never taken a physics class and had no theory on how to angle his blade to target the remote-opponent. The little blasts bounced all over the room, nowhere near what Aerec had been hoping to target. The trial-and-error lasted a good hour before he even started getting in the vicinity of the remote. The subtle fine tuning of his deflection techniques took another two hours after that, and he still hadn't hit his target. He was getting closer though. Every so often his shots went completely off. At least I can block the damn things, he thought, more than a little frustrated. By this time, sweat was pouring and he was panting. The exertion in the Force was somewhat exhausting. "I think I'll take a break," he declared. He could've continued, but he wasn't sure there was much more his body and mind would learn without getting some rest.

Aerec quivered with the news of war. Had he been to slow getting to the Grandmaster? Could his message have voided this whole mess? He closed his eyes and reached into the Force, feeling all the darkness and conflict Darex had. He couldn't feel if his presence had changed anything. He just couldn't tell. It weighed on him. But he thought past it. "If the Grandmaster has called the Order back to Gala, then perhaps she has a specific plan in mind. If we're in the middle of a war, then the Jedi will probably need every lightsaber they've got." He gulped. "I guess this is as good a time as any to hone my abilities with this thing." He flipped the orange blade on and off. "Let's get to Gala."

Aerec nodded, glad that Darex had confirmed that he wasn't fooling himself in the caves. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with what Riftor had said but...perhaps that would go away in time. It was best, now, just to ignore it, and get on with his training. With his life. He was glad that Darex asked for his input in the training. It had been itching at him for a while now, even before he'd turned to the dark side. He had finally come up with a reason, in words, as to why he wasn't sure about the path of the Jedi. "Darex, I need to do," he said. It felt like letting pressure out of a balloon. "I need to go be a Jedi. I want to go with you and do Jedi things, figure out what I'm supposed to be doing and where. I want to see if, in reality, my ideals are congruent with the Jedi. From all you've said to me, I think they do. But I won't know until it's tested. "I've read that part of a Jedi's path is the class he or she chooses, Consular, Sentinel, Naturalist, Ace...I don't remember them all. But I have no idea which one I am. And I should probably start thinking about that. Heck, I don't even know which one you are." He sighed. It wasn't a heavy, disheartened sigh as so many in the past had been. Rather, it was a determined sigh, one ready to move on to something else, put the past in the past and work towards a daunting future. "Long story short, I want to go out and do what a Jedi does. And maybe that starts with delivering this message to the Grandmaster?" The connection he'd made didn't really make sense. It had just been bugging him for a while that he hadn't completed the task the Emperor had given him. A man who could shoot Faust in the chest was not one you wanted to make enemies with.

Aerec dropped a deep sigh. He knew this conversation would come. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to have it yet, but he knew it would come. And he was ready. "Well, like you said, I saw visions in the caves. I could feel the power of the Force even as I entered it." He didn't want to detail the visions he'd had...but he knew he should. He knew it was what Darex was expecting and he knew that it was probably the best thing for him. "The first person I saw was you, Darla." His eyes fixed on her sadly. He still didn't know what reality was concerning his friend. Would his nightmare from the cave come true? "We haven't talked much about...anything. But I can tell." How could one admit this, broach this subject? "That you...are sickened by what I had become. I can feel it, maybe in the Force, maybe just by what I see. I dunno. But that's what the vision was. It was short and...horrible. You confronted me, very briefly, and then...walked away. You'd given up on me. I realized that was one of my worst fears. People close to me giving up hope on me. It was heartbreaking. And...I'll be honest, I still can't tell what's real and what's not." He let that sit, but not for too long. He didn't want to delve deeper with Darla, not yet. He needed to talk about the other things he'd experienced. "Then I saw you, Darex. And you sort of equipped me for the battle I was going to face. You told me it was okay to be unsure about some things about the Jedi, because they're things we experience along the way. I've been pretty unsure about it all since we first met on Gala. I still don't have a grasp of everything. And I know that feeling of being lost played a big role when I...fell. But your words in the vision gave me comfort. I...hope I wasn't just making them up to make myself feel better." He allowed a small smile on the corner of his lips, trying to show that there'd been humor in that statement. But...there wasn't. It was a tough thing to admit, but if Darex's words in the vision were false, then Aerec was basing everything on a trick he'd played on himself. Perhaps that was one of the things....no...he wouldn't think about that now. "Next I confronted Riftor. I guess I couldn't expect to get out of that one, could I?" A small chuckle lifted his chest. "He did everything you'd expect. He tried to get me to admit I didn't know what I was doing. I told him that it was all right not to know because I was still learning. He tried to tell me that he was too much apart of me, that I was ignoring my anger and hatred and all the things that had fueled me. He tried to make me the person who just survived. And I finally realized what you meant when you said some things are worth dying for. Then he assaulted me with all the anger and hatred and everything that I was as a Sith. And I wanted to kill him. I wanted to attack him back. But I resisted, I knew that nothing could actually end him. So I just said that I was a Jedi and that some thing were worth dying for. And that did it. He faded away like a flickering flame and where he'd stood was where I found the crystal to make this." He indicated the lightsaber in his palm. Aerec wished that was all. He really almost stopped right there and didn't go on. There was a long pause where he'd trapped the next words in his throat. He knew that one more word would admit the one thing that he wasn't sure about, the admittance that might fulfill the prophecy Riftor had laid out for him. "He came back." He dropped his head. "I thought I'd defeated him, but he came back. It wasn't really a vision this time, I couldn't see him and he couldn't do anything but speak to me. But he came back and wouldn't leave me alone. I was building my lightsaber and he played on my frustrations and lack of confidence. He told me that I was fooling myself, that I wasn't even sure I wanted to become a Jedi. That I didn't know what it meant and that I was making a decision that I would later regret. He said one day I'd wake up and realize that so much of my life had gone by fighting for this Jedi ideal that I never really believed in. And then I would hate myself more than I ever did as Riftor. And that I would be born again as a Sith more powerful than Riftor could have ever been. "And I didn't have an answer!" he cried out. "He got the last word and I went on and finished my lightsaber anyway, and I'm still not sure I have an answer. I mean, I know the ideal I want to live by and I think it coincides with that of the Jedi but...I just don't know. I didn't know and I don't. And...I'm afraid that's what is dooming me later down the line." He couldn't lift his head to look at Darex or Darla. "There are some things I don't understand. I didn't want to admit that. I almost didn't talk about that last part with you. But...I don't know."

Aerec ignited his lightsaber. His lightsaber. Built with his own hands. With his own life, he forged this weapon. The orange glow resonating off of it guided him in the darkness of the gave and Ilum's falling night. The trek to the ship was long and cold, but he made it. He climbed back onto the ship, cold and stiff. His jaw was clenched. He wasn't sure of everything that had happened in the cave, but he was sure that he'd come out...a Jedi. Now, at least, he had an identity. He sighed with relief. "I'm here," he called when he entered the ship. It felt so strange to be around people again. Real people, not just figments of his imagination, tricks of the eye and the Force. He immediately stiffened when he saw Darla. She'd walked away from him in the cave...but he had to remember that wasn't really her. Was it? "I say we head out and find the Grand Master." This was another planet he didn't particularly want to linger on. Though he was proud of what he'd accomplished in those caves, it had changed him somehow. And he wasn't sure how yet. He wasn't sure what to do with Riftor's parting words. He wasn't sure what he'd say if Riftor's voice came again. But he was a Jedi now. He would face that challenge when it came to him.

Aerec wandered throughout the caving, exploring the stories that history left behind. Hundreds, probably thousands, of Jedi had come to this place to embark on their journey toward Knighthood. Perhaps they came to re-forge their commitment to the Jedi by building a new lightsaber, replacing one lost or gifted to an apprentice. The stories were painted in the Force, and sometimes on the walls. With his eyes he saw murals. Some were purposefully painted, telling the stories of the struggle with darkness or the journeys to this cave. Some were sprayed accidentally, remnants of fire charred on the wall. Sometimes blood dried to the stone. Everywhere the Force sang the songs like an opera. It was different than the visions he'd experienced, but no less powerful. What song had his struggle left behind? What cord would it close on as he left the cave? Suddenly, Aerec realized he had no idea where his camp was. Immediately his muscles tensed and the walls closed in slightly around him. That's when the voice came back. Lost are we? "Damn it!" Aerec spat. "I thought I was done with you!" Done with me, Aerec? You'll never be done with me. You know that. I'm a part of you. "Right, but can't you just leave me alone for a bit. Give me a break, will you?" Aerec, where would you be without me? Riftor asked in a mocking, laughing tone. In fact, where are you right now? Ah, yes. You're lost. "I'm not lost," Aerec countered weakly. "I'm...exploring." Riftor took a moment to sneer. At least, it seemed that he would've had he manifest himself in something visible. As it was, Aerec could practically hear the expression on Riftor's face. I wasn't talking about the cave, Aerec. I was talking about you. You're lost. "What the hell are you talking about?" He felt like reaching out with a fist had there been a target at which to aim. You're lost, Aerec. What are you even doing in this cave? You have no idea where you're taking your life. "We've been through this before, Riftor, damn it. I know exactly where I'm going. I'm following the path of the Jedi!" The path of the Jedi? Yet so quick you are to anger with me. "That's because I'm done with you! I'm over that mountain. You're just grasping at straws, hassling me for your own entertainment." I'm just part of your own mind, Aerec. And just because you topped the mountain, doesn't mean you're going to have an easy hike down. As the climb up was hard on the calves, so the climb down is hard on the knees. "You're saying I'd better get used to this?" You already knew that, Aerec. I'm saying you'd be better if you gave into this. Because that's what you'll do eventually. "No, I won't. I learned my lesson. I don't want to kill and destroy innocence without reason any longer." What reason would you use? "What?" You said you didn't want to do it 'without reason.' What reason will you use to do it now? "You're twisting my words." For your own good. A Jedi kills as much as a Sith in times of war. Who do you think you're killing? Are stormtroopers behind their armor evil? Are pilots in their starfighters? Trust me, the Jedi have no problem shooting them down. "That's different." How? "It's war. It's what the Jedi are fighting against! We want peace and justice, not war and corruption." Fighting for war, perhaps history's greatest irony. "It is different! Shooting a stormtrooper who would kill me, even if he is just following orders, is different than what I did on Coruscant! I'm not torturing! I'm not destroying someone's life." Oh, Aerec. The stormtrooper has family and friends too who will be devastated by his death. "Yeah, well, I guess some things are worth killing for, too." Exactly. This is a basic principle of the Sith. "The Sith kill for power." And what do you think the Jedi fight for? You can't ensure peace and justice without power. "I'm tired of this. I know the difference in my heart. I hated myself when I was a Sith. That's what drove me. Self-loathing. It's not like that for Jedi." Riftor paused before answering. You will know that self-loathing again, Aerec. I assure you you will. You're just delaying it now. "What are you talking about?" Tell me, Aerec. Why haven't you put the crystal into your lightsaber yet? "What? I was tired and frustrated and I needed to take a break." But you haven't even taken it out of the stone where it rests. You haven't even imbued it with your Force signature. These are basic steps towards building a lightsaber. Did you forget them? "I didn't forget them." Then why haven't you taken them yet? "I'm taking my time. What's the rush?" You've been in this cave three days, Aerec. "I've had a lot on my plate. Ya know, visions, and haunting versions of my past self pestering me." I don't think that's the reason, Aerec. You're afraid. "Afraid of what?" Afraid to take the crystal away from its birthplace. Afraid to put yourself into it. "I'm not afraid. I'm just paying it some reverence. It's a beautiful thing, a crystal." It is a beautiful thing. And you're afraid that you'll ruin it. "Ruin it? How would I ruin it?" By putting yourself into it. You're afraid that you don't believe those answers you gave me. And that there are thousands of other questions you don't know how to answer. And that there's too much of me left inside you for you to be a real Jedi. And you don't even know where the path of the Jedi is taking you! That's why you gave into Faust in the first place! Because you didn't know what it meant to be a Jedi! And you still don't! Fear, Aerec, any Jedi or Sith leads to anger and hatred and darkness. And you fear taking that next step, taking the crystal out of the stone and making it part of yourself. Because you fear, and you damn well should, that fifteen years down the line, well into Knighthood, you're going to wake up and realize you don't know what you're doing. You're going to be all alone in the galaxy, no Darex, no Darla, no Dante, no Faust, you'll have repressed my voice so far that you'll be deaf in the silence. You're afraid that you'll have no idea what you've been doing and what you'll do tomorrow. That's when you'll know self-loathing again. Except it will be worse. It will be pent up for decades and it won't have any single moment to focus on, one that Faust gave you. It will drive you mad. You'll have fifteen years to forgive yourself of, not just one torturous incident. And you won't know where to start. Yes, that's when the self-loathing will come back. And it will be worse than anything you experienced as Darth Riftor. That's what you're afraid of. That's the path of the Jedi that you're marching down. That's why you haven't finished your lightsaber yet. Aerec was pushed back by the argument. So much of it he hand answers to, but Riftor had just kept pushing. The anger and hatred poured in his gut. Yet there was no physical enemy to strike out at, only the voice in his head. He could only strike back with words and they were so...impotent. "You're mad, Riftor. You're desperate in your madness." No, Aerec. Just telling you of the inevitable. The voice stopped and, it seemed, took a breath. Do you know, Aerec, why you chose the name Riftor? "It was a rift. Between myself and...myself." Yes, that was certainly part of it. But there was something much deeper than that. Poetically deep, in fact. I don't know how an illiterate idiot like yourself managed it. Perhaps it was just a twist of Fate. Perhaps Faust planted it in you. The word rift comes from an ancient tongue that preceded Basic. The word, in that language, means tears. Do you remember how much you cried when Faust finally turned you. Do you remember how many tears you shed in your stay with the Sith? I remember. I remember them all. Because they all speak for me. It is after them that I am named! That, Aerec, is when I was destined to fail. Because Riftor was born out of your tears, out of your weakness! Born out of weakness, I never could've succeeded. Born out of weakness I was doomed from the start. You were too weak then to become anything more than a writhing, pathetic little life form, twisted at Faust's will. It was inevitable that you would fall back into Aerec. Just as it is inevitable that one day you will rediscover self-loathing. And then, ah yes, then, you will become something great. Then you can take on a Darth title to be proud of! Then Riftor's purpose will be served! I laid the path, but one day you will become a great Sith. One day when you have decades of mistakes, failures, anger, hatred, and power to fuel you...then you will become the Sith you were meant to be. Riftor may have been destined for failure, but there is still a future for you. Now, go, Aerec. Finish your lightsaber. Step onto the fateful path of the Jedi. I'll be here, reminding you of who you truly are. For now, though, you have a destiny to step towards. The voice left. There were no fading footsteps telling of Riftor's departure, but Aerec sensed the voice going away. He wished he could scream at it as he left. But...too many questions to answer...too much to confront. Darex was urging him to hurry. There was no time for this internal struggle. He was a Jedi. He'd come to become a Jedi. He found he was not so far from his camp. He sat in front of the crystal and began to meditate. He put his soul into the lightsaber, his whole soul. Hours later, when his meditation finished and he closed the casing for his weapon he felt...at peace. Strangely. He was on his path. Finally. I'm coming, Darex. I think I've survived this place. ((Well, that wasn't all I wanted it to be...but I lost the damn first attempt at this post...so...that's that.))

((All right, you two keep your pants on while I'm in this cave. Nothing would scar Aerec more than to walk in on his master and good friend getting jiggy with it.)) Aerec trudged back to the mouth of the cave, glad to have felt the touch of Darex -- the real Darex -- through the Force. As he walked past the places where his visions of the Jedi Master and Darla had occured, he saw feint images of them. They were smiling at him. Natural light spilled back in and the snow drifts began to rise. Indeed, at the edge of the cave, he found the bag that Darex had spoken of. He bent to pick it up. Hello, again. It was Riftor's voice. "I thought I'd gotten rid of you," Aerec responded aloud. No, no. I thought you knew you'd never be rid of me. I'm always a part of you. Aerec sighed. "Right. I suppose you're here to haunt me." Not exactly. Just to give you warning. Reach out into the Force. Feel what you'll have to confront...sooner or later. Aerec grimaced. What ominous destiny was Riftor talking about? Julio? Faust? Another confrontation with himself/Riftor? But it was much more simple. He felt a pack of minds, dull compared to humans, but ferocious, waiting. He'd heard some animals guarded the caves of Ilum. Perhaps he'd been lucky to get in un-scathed. "Right," he said. "Thanks for the heads up. Are you done?" I'll just leave you with this thought. You relied on me for this warning, and Darex for the parts for your weapon...who will you rely on when you're a Jedi Knight, out alone in the galaxy? "Haven't we been through this already?" Aerec asked, annoyed...perhaps more than annoyed. But Riftor's presence was gone. Aerec exhaled his frustration and trudged back to the spot where he'd left the crystal. He sat down, cross-legged, in front of the crystal, shining brightly in its stone cradle. It looked so perfect there. Aerec almost regretted that he would have to take it out. Later. He emptied the contents of the bag and organized them. A bunch of different types of casing, knots of wires, some power sources, a couple knobs to be attached somewhere or another, seemingly random bits of different metals, a little crescent piece that was probably the emitter, an aluminum circle, material for internal walls. A lot of stuff. He heaved a sigh. "This is gonna take awhile." He selected a fairly short set of casing material and laid it out to start placing things inside. He set up the little wall to isolate where the crystal chamber would be. That seemed important. Then he chose a metal to be a conductor and fashioned it to fit into the section below the crystal compartment. On top of that, he placed his power source: diatium. He had to make a hole through the wall into the crystal chamber, lest the power be uselessly isolated away from the equally useless crystals. It caused him to have to dis- and re-assemble the entire thing. Frustrating. But it was finished. Now he had to work on the electronics part of it. With foresight, he crafted a hole in the wall above the crystal chamber, so that the energy and power from the bottom two chambers could get through. He grinned at his minute accomplishment. The wiring was hell. It wasn't terribly difficult to get all the bigger components placed in acceptable spots, allowing a good channel for the energy to come through to the stabilizing ring at the top, but the little tiny wires had to attach to each other and to other things and...it was awful. The first and most obvious thing he tried to do was attach the set of wires to the knob he'd selected to be his activation button. He was no electronics wizard, and it took him the better part of an hour just to get a spark out of the touch of his little red button. And when he did get a spark, it gave him quite a shock. His yelped echoed through the caves. Hopefully none of those animals heard it. Despite his yelp, he declared victory, as it seemed his battle with the wires was over. But it wasn't. He still had to connect the little snakes to three other components in the tiny space of the interior of the casing, else the energy of the crystal would somehow overwhelm the casing with heat or burst through things in random directions skewering his hand and possible worse or other perhaps the crystal wouldn't fire off at all as the power source would never get the spark. The details were exhausting. Though he couldn't see the light of day and didn't know what planet's time zone he was supposed to be on anyway, he decided it was nightfall, and that it was time for a rest. He slept for six hours. Riftor spoke with him the whole time. Poking. Prodding. Telling him that he'd fail, that he was losing focus, that he should just smash it, give up, and start again. His anger would give him the focus he needed. It would guide his hand, give him wisdom. Remember how eloquently Faust had set up the war? Aerec could set up the lightsaber that way, too...he just had to find the rage. It was all there within him, waiting for the spark to flip over from frustration...simmering water, heating little by little until the bubbles of hatred and disgust burst into beautiful raging lava. He awoke feeling not much more rested than before. But he kept working. And he didn't give in. It took him seven and a half hours, and many battles within, to finish up the electronics, but finally he did. "I'm taking a break," he declared, and got up to explore the cave. ((I'm going to do this in two more posts, so I guess you have a little more time for whatever adults do when the kids aren't around...))

"You will never be ready, Aerec Blackwood." Riftor was a mirror image of Aerec, excepting the color of his robes. They shared the same tall, lanky build, the same young but tired features. The same scar. "What would you do to get ready?" "I don't--" "You don't know! Of course you don't!" Riftor's voice was not a yell, but a harsh snapping. It pushed Aerec back within, but he held his footing as courageously as he could. "You don't know what you're doing here, in this cave, with the Jedi, away from me! You don't even know how to take care of yourself! How would you know how to prepare for this moment of terrible truth?" "A Jedi is always learning...I wouldn't expect to be--" "A Jedi? So you're a Jedi now? What would you know about being a Jedi? The most significant thing you've ever done in your life is ruin a man! Some Jedi, you." "That was not me. That was you." "I am you, Aerec! Don't you see that! Doesn't that scar on your face remind you of that every day?" "You are not me! I am not you." "I sure as hell am a part of you, and if you deny that--" "A part, Riftor. A part. That is all." There was a moment of pause. "At least you admit that. And what do you expect to do with that part, young Jedi? The Council has no place for part-Sith in their great plan. Will you try to smother me? Live a lie as you bow to their philosophy and orders? Which, I might add, you don't understand at all." "I don't need to smother anything. You were born of my anger. Anger is natural, but it isn't all that drives us." "Wrong, Aerec. I was not born of your anger. I was born of your need to survive. I may use your anger, but it is not my essence. My essence is exactly the same as yours. When you were on the ropes, at the end of Faust's lightsaber, at the end of your wits, it was me that took over. "So, when a blizzard comes and locks you in this cave without your Master, when you come up against that pack of Gorgodons you were lucky to avoid on your way in, when your life is in danger, then will you ask for my help again?" "I'm strong enough to find my way without your self-loathing and rage, Riftor." "So you say. But what about when you meet Faust again. Oh, I'm sure he's very much alive. What about when he has you at your wits end and you're staring at his weapon, all but defenseless. What about then? Will you call on me then?" "I will not." "Then you will die!" That last word echoed throughout the cavern and faded away into the past. But Riftor still stood challenging Aerec. "So be it," he responded. "So be it? So be it! You would forfeit your life?" "Some things," Aerec answered slowly, controlling his own revelation. It was a frightening phrase t finish. "...are worth dying for." Riftor's expression was incredulous. Aerec could feel the hatred boiling off of the Sith. The response came, filled with venom. "Like what?" "Like staying true to myself." "True to yourself? What does that even mean, Aerec? Are you delusional?" "It means staying true to the principles I adhere to." "And what are those? You're just chanting the Jedi lore now." Aerec cringed, because he knew Riftor already had another response. "Like peace and justice." "Peace and Justice! Ha!" There were short seconds of maddening laughter. "And what, oh wise Jedi Blackwood, the hell does that mean?" "It means..." What does it mean? He hated that he let himself think that question. Riftor was a production of his own mind...could he lack onto that admittance of weakness? "...defending the--" "Oh, please, Aerec, let me stop you right there." "No! It means something! It does!" "Feel free to enlighten me when you figure it out, you fool. But for this century, why don't you and I create our own justice, instead of pandering to the will of some stuffy Jedi Order?" Like you wouldn't have pandered to the will of Faust. "It means people like you never have to exist!" Aerec spat. "You're right. You were born out of my need for survival. But I confronted that survival because of Faust's manipulation, not because of reality. And I confronted that need for survival because when my parents died, everyone on Corellia forgot about me and let Dante and I live in the gutters. Justice means never letting that happen! Peace means stopping wars that push people to their darkest. With peace and with justice, you, Riftor, never would've seen the light of day. You'd be just another tiny piece of me, nameless. The need to survive is natural. Anger is natural. But those things needn't be brought to the foreground, because it is also natural for us to thrive! It's natural for us to love and create, not hate and destroy. Sometimes we must destroy to survive, even to thrive and love and create. But that doesn't have to be true. That's not the ideal. The ideal is to live positively, laughing and learning, instead of negatively, plundering and burning." Those words, too, echoed off the walls of the cavern. Riftor waited a long time under Aerec's fierce gaze before responding. "The ideal, eh?" There was a slight mocking in his tone. "Yes, the ideal. That is what's worth dying for." "Hmm." Riftor's eyes squinted, as if trying to peer into Aerec's soul. "Look at me, Aerec. Do you see this face? It's the same as yours. Do you see this scar?" "I see it." "Do you remember how you got this scar?" "I do." "What will you do with it? Will you hide it, put some bacta on it and make it go away forever?" "No. I acknowledge that you are part of me, a part of my past. But the past is where you can stay." "So you think. But this is not my point. You remember when Julio Furion marked you with this scar, yes? What will happen when you see him again -- and don't think you can avoid it, your old friend Fate has a beautiful way of making things happen -- and he asks you if you can look yourself in the face, if you are still hiding from this scar? What will you tell him, when you reminds you of this!" Riftor's hands shot out towards Aerec, weaponless. They stopped a meter short, but their attack did not. It was not lightning or any other trick of the Force. It was hatred. Loathing. Anger. Rage. All of what Aerec had lived on as a Sith. It filled him, twisted inside him, boiled his guts, brought back too many horrors to count. It knocked him to his knees. He screamed out in pain, a pain worse than anything physical he'd known. His vision blurred into reds and oranges and yellows and burning passionate hatred. Riftor's image was aflame, lighting the darkness of the cave, outshining even the brightest crystal. "What will you do with Furion raises his lightsaber against yours and he is stronger than you because you have neglected this dark part of yourself? How will you possibly defend yourself? What...Will...You...Say!?!" Aerec was panting now, the turmoil swirling inside him, taking him back to the moment he had killed Darla, Darex, and Dante all in an attempt to stay alive and kill Faust...Just like in that moment, his natural instinct was to reach out with all that loathing and anger and strength and end his enemy. But no attack would end Riftor. That much he knew. No matter how strong he became, with darkness or with light, Riftor would always be there. He had to live with that, with his scar. The darker parts of himself would not go away, yet still he had only one answer. "I am a Jedi...and there are some things worth dying for." The pressure began to recede. The turmoil started to lighten. The burning image of Darth Riftor began to fade, shrinking shrinking down to a tiny flame, fighting against cold, snowy Ilum. Then it flickered out, as did the chaos within...giving way to peace. And another shining substance. A crystal, calling out to him. He let his breath out, though he didn't know how long he'd held it. Exhausted, he stood and walked toward the crystal. He stared at it a long while before reaching out into the Force. Darex. I've found...something. I don't know what to do next.

Aerec donned the coat. He stood, knee deep in snow, in awe. Amazement. Fear. The galaxy...simply did not make sense sometimes. Darex spoke of visions. Instinctively, Aerec wanted to hide. He did not want to confront any visions. Faust had made his life a nightmare with a few simple visions. And there was such a demon in Aerec's past now...what visions would haunt him now. But he knew...he knew...that he must. Ilum had been brought back to life. For Aerec. It seemed as though the planet had been re-made just for him. This planet, whose destruction had so drastically altered the course of Aerec's life, now would do so again, spinning peacefully on its axis as it was supposed to. "Do you have any questions for me, padawan?" Darex asked. Yes. A thousand. But he didn't ask them. He didn't even look at Darex. He just stood, knee deep in snow, throat deep in fear, and waited. For the strength. And when it came, he walked. Still without looking back. Trudging, knee deep in snow, Aerec made his way to the caves he saw some ways off. It was freezing. He felt the Force grow stronger, as Darex had said it would. That gave him some warmth. But it also made images dance in his head of the vision he would confront. The mouth of the cave provided some protection from Ilum's fierce wind. However, the tall inches of snow did not dive off. The gusts must have blown much of it in over time. As he got deeper, the snow receded, slowly. The Force grew stronger as the snow grew more shallow. Finally, he stepped onto solid stone for the first time on the planet, deep within the darkness of the cave. The only light came from the crystals that he was seeking. But he knew, for some reason, that he should not choose a crystal until he'd survived his visions. "Fate does strange things to test us you know." It was Darla's voice. It was something she'd said in transit that Aerec hadn't gotten a chance to answer. He turned to see her walking on the snow he'd just come through. She was not sinking. Not real. "I guess so." She was resonating like she didn't in real life. Fully connected to the Force. Fully made of the Force. Or Aerec's mind. She was completely disgusted with him. It all came off her in the Force, as clear as real words she hadn't spoken, wouldn't speak. She did not understand him. She could not fathom a man who would torture and kill someone else, who had loved the power. This woman, who had a strong darkness of her own, was sickened by Aerec's evil. She dropped her head, her eyes retreating from his. They'd once been friends. She had offered him wisdom on more than one occasion. Now she could not meet his gaze. He was expecting something more from the confrontation. But he could not have prepared himself for what the vision showed him. Her gaze did not come back up. After a time, she simply walked away, her head still hung. Darla was full of drive. She had suffered through and continued to fight inexplicable amounts of difficulty. But so great was the gap between her and Aerec because of what Aerec had done that she...walked away from their friendship. It was crippling. Paralyzing. He stared for a long time at where he image had finally faded away. "No Jedi comes out the same person as they were when they came in." This time, it was Darex's voice and image that appeared in front of him, walking from where Darla had faded. His words were those from outside the cave, just a few hours before. They were probably words Aerec should've paid more attention to. "Walk with me for a moment, Aerec," the Jedi Master beckoned. He stood, something he wasn't sure he was able to do. "The problem is, Darex," Aerec began, fully aware that he was talking to himself, "is that I'm not sure I'm a Jedi. I'm not sure I've ever been a Jedi. I don't know what it means to be a Jedi." "Hmm," Darex murmured, contemplative. "The life of a Jedi is not something that can be summed up in one day's lessons, Aerec. A Jedi is constantly learning, constantly changing." "But I strayed off the path of the Jedi. I became a Sith. That can't be part of a Jedi's learning experience, can it?" "Aerec, many powerful and wise Jedi have experienced darkness. Many have taken the mantle of the Sith. Anakin Skywalker did thing more horrible by a million fold than you ever did. Most of his life was dominated by the Sith he became: Darth Vader. But he lived, in the end, as a Jedi. He saved Luke Skywalker and became one with the Force. Without Anakin Skywalker's fall and redemption, the galaxy would be a much different place today." "But what positive influence could my time as Riftor possibly have? The only thing Riftor ever did was torture and kill a few people and help start what might be another civil war." "Aerec, the future is unknown. I can't tell you how you might re-shape this galaxy. All I can tell you is that you can." "But what am I supposed to shape it into? What do the Jedi want to make the galaxy." "The Jedi want peace and justice for all. You know that." "But what does that mean, Darex! Those are just words! I can't see any of it! It doesn't make any sense to me." "That, too, my young padawan, is not something I can show you in one day's lessons. Peace and justice are things that are developed and fought for over lifetimes, generations, millennia, infinity. We all play our part." "Even Faust?" "Even Faust, in his own way. You never know. Faust's actions that so dramatically altered your life may be the most important thing that leads to your stamp on the galaxy. The Force is always wisely in motion." "So you're telling me you can't tell me anything?" "I'm telling you that you can only discover things for yourself. I can act as your guide, counselor, master, and friend. But everything you learn, everything you do, is your own." "Well, damn it, Darex," Aerec said, half-laughing, "that's a lot of pressure!" But Darex was gone. And Aerec's words, humorous as they were intended, echoed off the walls and in his ears. It was a lot of pressure. No more passing the buck. No more blaming his impoverished childhood. No more blaming his lack of luck. No more blaming fate. "Hello, Aerec." This voice was the most familiar, yet most alien of them all. He didn't want to turn to see. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help it. "Riftor." "We meet at last." "I'm not ready for this." ((And neither is the writer. Sorry it's taken me so long to post.))